


Basic Needs

by Aunt_Maud



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Carer Aziraphale, Diapers, M/M, baby Crowley, bottle feeding, nappies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 18:53:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21104324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aunt_Maud/pseuds/Aunt_Maud
Summary: When this happens, when Crowley effectively turns into a baby, a baby with terribly human needs and no powers, Aziraphale doesn’t leave his side.  He uses no miracles that might draw attention.  He just makes sure he is safe, cared for and loved.





	Basic Needs

He finds Crowley collapsed on the floor of his flat. By the state of him he has been there for more than a day. He wakes at the sound of Aziraphale coming in and starts crying pitifully.

“Hush, darling, it’s all right, I’ve got you now.”

He first goes to the kitchen and gets a glass of water, sitting Crowley up to take as much as he can. He must be thirsty as he stops crying to drink it down.

“There’s my good boy.”

Then, so gently, he lifts him into his arms and carries him to the bedroom. He puts him down on the rug and the desolate sobbing begins anew.

They keep what he needs in a cupboard, concealed behind a sofa. He first rolls out a changing mat and lays Crowley down on it. Then he starts a bottle warming. 

He collects cloths, soap, wipes, a basin of warm water and goes back to him. He is difficult to undress; he is too upset to want to be touched and shies away.

“Keep still for me, sweetheart, you’ll soon be feeling better.”

He manages to get his jeans off first. He has wet and soiled himself a couple of times and some of it has dried.

“You poor thing. How long was I missing?”

Crowley has no words to tell him.

“Now, darling, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He gets him out of his t-shirt and washes him carefully. Working as quickly as he can, he dries him and applies cream to red, sore skin. He puts him into a disposable nappy. Better for his skin, they have found, than the cloth ones they used for hundreds of years.

Once he is in warm pyjamas, he picks him up and takes him to the sofa. He covers him in a blanket and cradles him. Being held like this is usually enough to calm him and his breathing does become more regular as his sobs subside. He offers him the bottle, and despite his agitation, he takes it. 

He falls asleep when he finishes feeding, at peace at last. Aziraphale doesn’t put him to bed. He replaces the bottle teat with a soother and holds him in his arms, not ready to relinquish him yet. He needs to calm himself down first.

This shouldn’t have happened. It is too soon. It has been less than a month since last time and there had been a week only three months ago. 

He has been caring for Crowley since, by chance, he became aware of his condition over a thousand years ago. At most he is needed once a year, sometimes whole decades go by. 

So why has it come so soon? It is an impossible question. They don’t know why it happens, what triggers it and, as far as either of them know, no one else, whether human or demon, suffers in this way. Of course, it is not the sort of thing one broadcasts.

He has read every book he can think of that might help and got nowhere and there is no one to ask. And even if there were, it is desperately important neither Hell nor Heaven discover this vulnerability. Neither side would hesitate to use it against them, especially with the foiled apocalypse so fresh in everyone’s memory.

So, they ask no questions, seek out no experts and when this happens, when Crowley effectively turns into a baby, a baby with terribly human needs and no powers, Aziraphale doesn’t leave his side. He uses no miracles that might draw attention. He just makes sure he is safe, cared for and loved. 

Crowley wakes a few hours later. Not even crying, just making a general complaint about an empty stomach and a wet nappy. These basic needs easily met, Aziraphale puts him to bed.

He is in a cheerful mood now. Baby Crowley is normally significantly more contented a being than he is as an adult demon. He is delighted by being tickled, by going ‘round and round the garden’, by playing ‘incy wincy spider’. He likes practicing his gripping, likes putting things in his mouth. He likes laughing at Aziraphale. His singing, his funny faces. He also likes being quietly held. 

But then, since the thwarted apocalypse, Aziraphale has discovered the standard version of Crowley likes being quietly held too.

Soon Crowley tires again and Aziraphale switches off the lamp, gives him his soother and a toy to hold.

“Sleep now, darling boy.”

The days pass like this and another worry asserts itself. Crowley is taking much longer to come out of his regressed state than he used to. 

His friend is never aware of what happens to him. He wakes feeling as though he has slept and had strange dreams. This makes it difficult for them to trace a history of the condition. But as far as he recalls, for thousands of years, he lost only a few hours at a time.

By the time Aziraphale discovered what was really happening, one terrifying day in Greece, the episodes were lasting almost two days.

Last time he did not recover for two anxious weeks. They have already passed that milestone this time.

The episodes are not frightening in themselves. For the most part, Crowley just becomes a happy, healthy baby in an adult body and then wakes up the same old sauntering, quick witted devil he always has been with no lasting effects. But what if the balance is tipping? What if baby-Crowley is becoming his normal state of being? What if his adult self will become the one rarely or never seen? 

***

Crowley comes back to himself when Aziraphale is bathing him. He is shampooing his hair while talking soothing nonsense and only notices when Crowley’s laughter stops.

“Angel?”

“There you are. Welcome back, my love. How do you feel?”

“Mmm, okay. How long?”

“I don’t know exactly; I wasn’t here for the beginning. But about four weeks.”

“Christ.”

In recent centuries, Crowley’s mind has tended to recover ahead of his body and they are used to him taking a day or so to regain his strength and powers. So Aziraphale still needs to lift him from the bath and carry him to the bedroom to be dried and dressed.

He lays him down on the mat once he has finished drying his hair. 

“Nappy, darling?”

“Better had. Thanks.” 

Instead of the wriggling laughing infant he has been, Crowley always becomes very still and quiet when he is conscious of these intimacies. When he needs Aziraphale to feed and bathe and change him. There was a time he used to fight and complain, denying he needed help, desperately trying to preserve his pride and independence, driving Aziraphale to distraction in the process. But that was hundreds of years ago and they have long since reached an understanding.

He makes Crowley comfortable sitting up in bed and goes to heat soup for lunch. Aziraphale feeds it to him slowly but he struggles to keep it down and they give up. He gives him warm milk a sip at a time. This sits better although it is slow going. Next time, if the same thing happens, he will suggest a bottle of something nourishing so Crowley doesn’t go to bed hungry or frustrated. Crowley will usually quietly consent. 

Crowley sleeps for a couple of hours and Aziraphale watches over him. There is something compelling about this part of his recovery. Although Aziraphale would never say, he is fascinated by the contradiction between the sharp, brilliant mind and dependent body. The necessity of relinquishing control to another. To him. He is sure Crowley takes pleasure in it. He sees how he becomes soft and amenable, not really minding being gently tended to. And it satisfies Aziraphale too, to take charge of his physical needs, to let him know how much he is adored, to see him content and peaceful.

It meant so much through all those centuries when showing one another affection was a dangerous business. It seems to mean even more now they can truly be together.

Naturally, they never acknowledge this. Their shared narrative is that they cope together with these times, they manage them. They certainly don’t relish or look forward to them.

***

Crowley wakes apologising for being wet. He still can’t stand or walk, which is unusual, but must be the result of his extended time regressed. Aziraphale takes him out of bed to change him on the mat.

“Comfortable?” He asks as he finishes fastening the new nappy and checking it is secure. 

Crowley doesn’t answer and he looks up to find him blinking rapidly and shaking his head as if he is trying to escape from a bad dream.

“What is it?” He asks. “Crowley?” 

He has never seen this before.

The blinking finally stops, “I can’t focus, I keep slipping back. Can you - can you help me sit up.”

With a hand behind Crowley’s head, he sits him up. But he can’t support himself at all, so he shifts him on to his lap and lets him fall against him, head on his shoulder.

“It’s all right, take your time.”

He stands, lifting Crowley with him and takes him to the sofa. Crowley buries his face into Aziraphale’s neck and he strokes his hand through his hair, murmuring reassurances.

It is fully an hour before Crowley lifts his head. Aziraphale sees that it, whatever it was, has passed.

“You’re back?”

“What the fuck was that?” 

“I don’t know, darling. It’s all taking a bit longer this time, isn’t it? Are you feeling all right?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

He gives Crowley a drink and carries him back to bed. Kicking off his own shoes, he gets in beside him, holding him close, caressing him while he fitfully sleeps.

When he wakes, early in the evening, he is more himself; able to sit up and stand with Aziraphale’s help. He’s not there yet; he’s wet again and, although hungry, unable to take solid food. But they are going in the right direction and Aziraphale breathes a silent thank you to nobody at all.

***

“Crowley, my dear,” he says when they are sitting together later, hand in hand. “I’m afraid you were alone for a long time this time. Is there some way we can prevent that happening again?”

“It’s fine, angel.”

“It isn’t. You were upset and so was I. Do you get any warning at all? Perhaps you could carry one of those alarms.”

“I don’t want you tied to me like that. If I’m alone, I’m alone, it doesn’t matter.”

“But we don’t know if you’re immortal when you regress. You’re not fully human, but you’re not fully demon either. Humans do very badly if they don’t get a drink of water for a few days.”

“Would dying be such a bad thing?” Crowley quietly asks, looking down at their hands clasped together.

“Don’t say that.”

“Look, we can both see the way things are heading. It’s happening more often, it’s lasting longer, today it wouldn’t let me go at all. What if next time I don’t recover for a century or I don’t ever come back? If I have to stick like that, I wouldn’t want to go on and I wouldn’t want you trapped with me.”

“Come now, to me it’s no trap. You know I like looking after you.”

“Forever, Aziraphale? Day in, day out? I’m going to say something and I want you to take me seriously. If I end up permanently regressed, I want you to finish me.”

“Crowley, don’t you dare suggest-.”

“No, no, just listen to me. I’m not being dramatic, I’m being practical. I know what you do for me - I’m remembering more than I used to – and it’s not what I want. Not for me and definitely not for you.”

“Then we have a problem because I could never hurt or neglect you, let alone kill you. And Crowley, I want you to take me seriously. If I am to take care of you every day until the end, I will consider it an honour and a privilege.”

Crowley sighs, “Aziraphale, you can’t possibly mean that. That useless, helpless thing isn’t even me.”

“Yes, he is. And he is a delight. He is sweet and loving in his own way, just as you are. I enjoy the time I spend with him.”

“Okay, you’re insane, I know this. But we live very long lives.”

“And I hope to be with you throughout the rest of mine.”

“Do you, Aziraphale?” Crowley softly asks. “I didn’t know.”

“Oh, I’m an idiot. I should have picked a better time to tell you. But yes, my love, I do. If it’s at all what you might want.”

“I would like to spend my life with you.” Crowley lifts his hand and kisses it. “But as myself. I want to be with you as your partner, your equal. I want to be able to pour you a glass of wine at the end of the day and watch the sunset with you. I want to look after you, to love you back. I don’t want to be a helpless bundle of needs, a list of tasks you have to complete.”

“You could never be that to me. Never.”

“I don’t mean to upset you, I’m sorry.”

“And you remember things? I didn’t realise. Is it so bad? Are you so very unhappy? You don’t seem to be.”

“Of course not, angel. That thing is perfectly happy. But this is my point, he’s not me.”

“We must agree to differ on that. But perhaps you can tell me what you would like me to do differently. It is terribly hard on you not to be able to communicate during those times.” 

“There isn’t anything. If you’re there, he’s happy.”

For a moment Aziraphale can’t speak. He can feel tears threatening and he mustn’t. 

“Maybe we’re not so different, after all,” Crowley says with a small smile. “You’re perfect with him, you couldn’t do anything to make him happier. What I remember is bloody embarrassing, but its lovely. I just don’t want it to be my life.”

“I do know what you’re saying, I do. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There’s lots we haven’t tried, as you know. We’ve been too cautious to use miracles, consult human doctors. Even Anathema, who is a very powerful witch, might be able to help.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“But if the worst came to the worst.”

“It might not make a blind bit of difference but would definitely get us noticed.”

“It would be worth it. We’ve evaded Heaven and Hell before, we can do it again. I can protect both of us if need be.”

Crowley looks momentarily awed by this declaration. Then he frowns, “So you have thought about it?”

I have, I can’t lie, especially lately. It breaks my heart to think I might never have another conversation with you or share a meal with you, or walk in the park with you. Especially now we’re finally free. If it comes to it, I will do all I can to get you back. But if I can’t, if our relationship has to change, it doesn’t mean it will be any less precious to me or bring us, both of us, any less joy.”

“I can’t persuade you. I knew I wouldn’t be able to. But if it gets too much, remember what I’ve said. Remember what you have permission to do. What I’ve asked you to do.” With his thumb, he wipes away the tear Aziraphale has inadvertently shed. “Stop that now darling, I’m the leaky one around here.”

***

Aziraphale takes extra care when he is getting Crowley ready for the night. When he is holding him to feed him a hot drink, changing him into the thicker nappy he wears to help him sleep through, putting him back to bed and reading him a chapter of their current book. He makes sure he knows this is no chore, these are as much acts of love as any of the other things they do for each other.

While Crowley sleeps, he starts to pack away the things they keep for these occasions. The toys and bright clothes are Aziraphale’s purchases. They delight the baby but mortify the adult so are best kept out of sight. He keeps aside what they need for feeds and changes. He hopes, by tomorrow, they won’t be needed either.

In his haste a month ago, he had not noticed a small wrapped box in the concealed cupboard. Its label has his name on and so he opens it. He finds a lapel pin, delicately made in platinum and copper, tooled into two wings, dark and light, resting together. On the back Crowley has had engraved, ‘thank you’.

He goes to the cupboard where his jacket hangs and pins the lapel pin to it. Then he stands, feeling rather lost, beside Crowley’s sleeping form. Possible tomorrows present themselves.

Tomorrow Crowley will get up from bed, wave a hand to wash and dress himself. The sunglasses will go on and he will take Aziraphale for breakfast, watching him eat over the tiniest of espressos. He will drop him off at the bookshop with a still shocking kiss and Aziraphale will start to worry the moment the Bentley is out of sight.

Or tomorrow, Crowley will not get up from bed. He may have regressed again or he may not. Anything could happen now the rules no longer seem to apply. Aziraphale will not know what to do with all that worry. He will not at all know what to do. Except love him.

“Come to bed, angel,” Crowley murmurs surfacing briefly from the depths of sleep. 

“Oh. Yes, all right.”

He changes into pyjamas and climbs in beside Crowley who reaches for him, and does not relinquish his hold even when he is fast asleep again.


End file.
